Pokemon: Orphan Orange
by Stoateyez
Summary: Ash Ketchum is an orphan. If his life wasn't already bad enough, it's about to get worse. After learning that a law requires him to become a Pokemon trainer, our favorite hero finds himself struggling to survive. Can Ash earn enough badges to retire, or will he die trying? Rated T for blood, gore, and language. Possible AAML later on. Only contains first 251 Pokemon.
1. Foreword

So...this is one of the darkest fics that I've written in a while. Heavily inspired by Pokémon 0. Reviews and follows are welcome and appreciated!

* * *

Foreword - An Interview With Lance

"...the four regions have always been nation states promoting the right to life. This means that abortion has effectively been outlawed within our national borders," explained Lance. "This also means that there are no birth control pills, or condoms if you will."

The commentator nodded. "Right...now this was set into place by the Pokemon League in the early 1950s. At the time, did the Pokemon League predict that there would be so many orphans?"

The leader of the Pokemon League shifted uncomfortably before carefully speaking. "No, of course not. But that is why the state has provided orphanages in every town, where each child is taken care of and looked after if they were abandoned."

"But the state only takes care of the child until age fifteen, correct? If those children can't find a job at that age, which they likely won't, then they have no other option but to either become a trainer or a homeless person. Correct me if I'm wrong," said the commentator, his voice carrying a more serious tone.

Lance shifted again. "Well, the answer to your question is correct. Obviously, the state can't support a child past fifteen years old – there are simply too many, and our fragile economic system would become trashed. Training employs these children early on and eases the taxes on our regular citizens. This is why the Orphan Act was passed."

"Well, how would you address the criticisms of the Orphan Act? A lot of people, quite a few trainers themselves, argue that the legislation was passed so that Pokemon training stays in existence. It's no secret that trainers stimulate the economy. They claim that the act was passed to force people to become trainers – to keep the nation out of debt and in an economic boom."

Lance frowned visibly, as though the interview had taken a wrong turn. "Yes, the Pokemon industry generated over 750 billion dollars in the last year. But that is not why Pokemon training exists. It is a traditional sport ingrained within our founding constitutions, a right guaranteed to the people."

"But most trainers are not where they are by choice. Their rights were violated when they were forced out of the system," noted the commentator.

Lance stood up in a blur. "Listen, this interview is over, _sir_. This is an ambush on the reputation of the Pokemon League, and an insult to my organization. Everyone has a choice...those kids who are trainers are on the road because they couldn't pay a debt! That debt is paid when they acquire five badges!"

"But hardly anyone can pay for fifteen years of rent at the age of fifteen!" countered the commentator, standing up as well. He knew that the network affiliates would fire him for pressing such an important figure this hard on national television, but he no longer cared. "How much do you get paid, Mr. Dragonstone?"

Lance snorted wryly. "I choose to keep my income private, thank you very much. Besides, a champion makes more than I do after winning a Pokemon League tournament. We have made multimillionaires out of every Champion."

"And training has resulted in the deaths of plenty more."

"Training is dangerous! It comes with the choice of the profession – "

The commentator cut in again quickly. "A profession which is often not voluntary. These children are walking thousands of miles unsupervised, possessing Pokemon that can level whole villages. It seems like a violation of constitutional rights!"

Lance was turning out of the camera angle now. "This interview is over. I have no further comment. If you wish to attack the Pokemon League verbally, mail this to the Indigo Plateau. I bid you good day."


	2. Chapter 1

_"They say that every trainer will see his or her fair share of dead bodies over their career. I can easily remember my first one. It was a girl not much older than me. She had been raped, shot in the head, and then thrown into a shallow ditch on the side of the route that I happened to be traveling on. It shook me up for a little while, but after the second or third badge, I was pretty used to seeing corpses." – Jack Marquette, 213th Kanto League Champion, 1999._

* * *

Chapter One – A Forced Beginning**  
**

I was numb. I couldn't remember when the feeling started. Had it been yesterday afternoon, when they gave me the unfortunate news? Perhaps it was this morning, when I awoke to discover that my situation was not simply a bad dream – no, a nightmare even. This was reality. I could feel the shivering in my legs, spreading upwards to create a hollow pit within the depths of my stomach. What had I done to deserve this?

_It doesn't matter, does it? You can't get out of it now._ The voice in my head was right. I could not avoid such a damning fate.

It was a beautiful morning, even by midsummer standards. I could see the sun creeping into the sky above Silver Pass in the east, painting the clouds with curious hues of pink and gold. Somewhere far off, I could hear the errant caw of a Dodrio as its three beaks announced a new dawn. There were still beads of refreshing dew on the tall grass, and even the spiderwebs cast by an assortment of insect Pokemon were left still and intact. It was a peaceful scene.

And then, there was me, violating nature's perfect picture.

For a fifteen year old boy, I looked like shit. I hadn't had much time to prepare for my departure, mainly due to the little warning I received. When the matron told me that I had exactly twenty-four hours before I would legally be considered an adult, I had obviously panicked. And yes, you heard me right. At fifteen years old, I was considered a legal adult. To add icing to the cake, I was expelled from the orphanage I had spent the last decade and a half residing in, blissfully ignorant of how the world worked. My experience was similar to someone pouring icy water on my head while I was asleep – I had finally woken up, and to a grisly situation.

I never asked to become a Pokemon trainer, nor did I volunteer. I never even wanted to associate with Pokemon, let alone train the powerful beasts to battle as a means of survival. But because of my status within society, I was forced to become a Pokemon trainer.

I was born in 1985, in a small village in Kanto known as _Pallet Town_. According to the official records that the matron allowed me to see, I was born as Ash Ketchum, to a man named named Red Ketchum, and a woman named Delia Ketchum. I was told that they were hooked on very addictive drugs, and that one day, they abandoned me at the local orphanage. I was five when they deserted me, and seven when the Pallet Town orphanage transferred me to New Bark Town, in the Johto region. I'm still not sure whether I believe the official records about my parents – my memories of my mother do not ever include her slamming heroin or snorting cocaine. Unfortunately, I can't remember my father.

I grew up in a settlement known as New Bark Town. It was a quaint, small place with a solid foundation on the windmill and farming business. The village itself was only home to about a thousand people, although it was still marked on the national map due to the location of its renowned Pokemon research laboratory. To put it simply, there were more dirt roads than paved roads, and most of the houses were nearly like cabins. I was raised in the local orphanage with about twenty-five other orphans, a welcome change from the cramped conditions in the Pallet Town state home. We liked to think of ourselves as a happy family, despite the fact that we were all different ages. It was always a special event when one of us were adopted – Mrs. Elm, who ran the facility, would always bake a cake in celebration. She was the matron, the one who looked after us. Sure, she received a paycheck for raising us, but she managed to treat us like her own children. Despite the fact that we were orphans, most of us had a relatively easy life. We attended school like any other kids, although the other children always had newer clothes and the newest gadgets. Because we were all young kids at the time, the differences were blissfully overlooked.

As we became older, it was obvious that us orphans were radically different than those with parents. We were even treated differently – not worse, but certainly not the same. Adults around the small town would sometimes give us pitiful looks, as though they knew of a fate that we didn't. Nevertheless, life went on. We orphans still hung out with one another at school, voluntarily segregating ourselves from the other children.

My first experience with Pokemon were somewhat neutral. Sometimes, we would pretend to host mock battles in the yard behind the ancient schoolhouse we held classes in. We used Pokeballs as rocks, yelling commands to our imaginary beasts as though we commanded a full team. I hadn't really noticed at the time, but both the parents and the teachers would shake their heads at us when we engaged in the play fighting. _You go to school so that you do not have to become a trainer. You can grow up to be whatever you want, just make sure you become anything but a Pokemon trainer. _That's what they told the other children when they played the game with us.

They never bothered to scold the orphans, though.

It was a hot, summer afternoon, when I finally learned why.

I was completing the chore of removing weeds from the back garden of the orphanage when Mrs. Elm called me inside, her voice a bit more reserved than usual. She beckoned me into her personal office – a place that most children were only called into after repeated misbehavior.

"Ash, I would like to begin this conversation by noting that you have been one of the most cordial guests that have ever stayed here. You're a good boy, and I truly can't imagine why anyone would want to ever give you away," she said.

I simply nodded, still wary of what this conversation was entailing. "It's been a pleasure Mrs. Elm. You took all of us in like a mother that we never really had."

She smiled and looked away, towards the small window. Outside, I could see one of my friends kicking around a deflated football with a knot of thirteen year old children. "Which is why...I'll be very sad to see you go, Ash."

I felt my heart skip a small beat. _Sad to see me go? What is she talking about?_

"Ma'am?" I inquired.

She was crying now, and looking away wasn't helping her at all. Her eyes were red and glistening, misted over like sad orbs of despair. "Ash...today you turned fifteen years old. Obviously, you never bothered to ask when your real birthday was, since we all celebrate everyone's birthday on Thanksgiving here at the orphanage."

"I had no idea," I said.

She grimaced. "I know, honey. That makes this whole process a lot harder for the both of us."

I coughed nervously, my hands sweating profusely. I was gripping the arms of my chair with such a tightness that my knuckles had transitioned from a normal color into a ghostly white. "Ma'am, if you don't mind me asking, what process are we talking about here?"

She was on the verge of a breakdown, now. "With the other kids, this is usually much easier. Most of them want to leave here anyway – you know, the rowdier ones that usually misbehave."

"Mrs. Elm," I stated, my voice rising, "I need to know what is going on right now, because you're really starting to scare me."

She took a breath. "Ash, as this morning, you turned fifteen years old. Because you were an orphan, the state decided to take you in and raise you until you were determined capable of living on your own, using money provided by taxpayers. The Orphan Act states that you have to find a way to repay the state."

I mulled over the words in my head. _Repay the state. _Was she serious? I waited for one of my friends to jump out of the wastebasket in the corner of the room, yelling '_surprise_' as he did so. Such an event never occurred. Instead, I simply sat in the chair with my mouth gaping in disbelief. _Repay the state. What the hell does that even mean? I'm fifteen years old...I can't even get a job, let alone pay for fifteen years of rent._

She seemed to read my mind. "They want you to pay the money back by becoming a Pokemon trainer."

"No," I choked. "There's no way that this is real! Is this even a legitimate law?"

She nodded, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. "Of course it is, dear. Didn't you ever notice the lack of older children here at the orphanage?"

Yes.

Yes, I had noticed it. My infantile brain had failed to comprehend the puzzle, to solve the mystery that had been present my whole life. I hadn't noticed because I didn't care. They had talked about the Orphan Act a few times in what little History classes I took in the fifth and sixth grade, but I hadn't paid attention. Had anyone? We were little kids. The other children obviously didn't worry about the act because it didn't apply to them, and us orphans only cared about horsing around and playing with one another. It was all coming back now. The Orphan Act was a bill passed long before my time, to ease the blow on the common taxpayer. Pokemon trainers stimulated the economy – they spent billions of dollars per year on potions, Pokeballs, and antidotes. But obviously, not many people _wanted_ to become a Pokemon trainer. So to fill the gap, the state passed the Orphan Act, which forced orphans to become Pokemon trainers. The theory upholding the act was founded on the belief that once a trainer earned five badges, they would have spent enough money to pay back the imagined debt – like some indentured servant, really.

And I, Ash Ketchum, was going to be the next servant to fulfill that debt.

The rest of the conversation passed in a confusing haze. Mrs. Elm explained that I was scheduled to report to the research laboratory the following morning, where her husband would issue me a starting Pokemon and several other important items. The tears were streaming down my own face as she stated that all of my belongings that I wished to keep had to be removed as well. I was told that the rest would be sold at a yard sale, destroyed, or simply given to the other children at the orphanage. That night, I packed up what little items did belong to me.

I had shared the room with two roommates, a thirteen year old boy named Joey, and another guy named AJ. Mrs. Elm had told me not to tell anyone where I was going – she said that telling the younger children would cause a panic in the orphanage. Frankly, I wasn't eager to ruin what little childhood they had left either. There were a few questions, to which I answered that a family had adopted me, and that I was moving back to Kanto. The lie couldn't have been farther from the truth. It would be sometime later when I realized why I had never been warned about becoming a trainer – the adults had made sure to steer clear of the topic of our fates. We had always been told that Pokemon training was a fate damned only to those who dropped out of school, a career for lowlifes who had no other options. Now, I realized that I was that lowlife – just a kid with no other options.

They kicked me out at midnight, when everyone else was sleeping. I left most of my things in my room for Joey and AJ to keep. All I had was a knapsack, one change of clothes, and two thin, peanut butter sandwiches that Mrs. Elm hastily slapped together. She gave me a final hug, and then pushed me outside. The slam of the door behind me forced to come to grips with all of the events. In the blink of an eye, I had become homeless.

I walked to the lab in darkness, passing the cabins and storefronts that I had once considered my hometown. Here and there, a soft light would be on in the window. There were people in there, enjoying their families and friends. I was now on the outside, looking in – nothing but a homeless vagrant with an imaginary debt to people I had never encountered. Once I arrived at the lab, I sat down on the steps out front and waited. The adrenaline coursing through my body both prevented sleep, and numbed me. Somehow, though, I managed to doze off.

When I woke up, it was dawn.

.

"...which would mean that the migration pattern of local Pidgey have begun to change dramatically over an elongated course of ten years. Some of my colleagues have managed to install tracking devices on Spearow as well, and I must state that these findings are astounding. Wait...Bill, hold on. There's a kid sitting on my steps. I'll call you later this afternoon, OK? Bye."

That kid was me.

Professor Elm was a middle aged man of maybe forty years old, clad in a pristine, white laboratory coat and round spectacles that completed his scholarly outfit. His receding hairline certainly did not help his appearance, and on top of that, what hair he did have was thinning out near the top. I hadn't seen the man very often throughout my childhood, despite the fact that he was married to my caretaker, and the scowl on his face seemed to express an extreme displeasure at my presence. I rose to my feet and dusted off my jeans.

"Who are you?" he demanded, shoving the large cellphone he had been talking on into his beige slacks.

"Ash, sir. Ash Ketchum." I said, extending a hand.

He waved the friendly gesture aside and adjusted his briefcase. "My wife told me about you. You had high marks in school, right?"

I nodded. "Yes sir."

"Well, that won't do you much good as a trainer," he grunted, edging past me. He quickly scaled the steps and slid a key-card at the entrance of the laboratory. "Come inside. We need to get this done quickly. I have to write an important thesis by ten o'clock, and a Pokemon League official is swinging by around noon for lunch."

The doors of the laboratory slid open, hissing electronically as the did so. I followed the professor as closely as I could. The one-room laboratory was generally a mess. Several hardcover books had been stacked in a manner of ways, all of which were perched on sagging, wooden desks. Old printout papers, complex blueprints, and at least a pallet worth of lined paper lay draped over every other inhabitable surface, giving me the impression of a library rather than a research lab.

"Uh, find a seat," said Elm, gesturing vaguely towards a plush, burgundy chair half-buried beneath a stack of musty books. "Feel free to move those if you can. Now, where did I put that goddamn digital camera?"

I quickly picked up the stack of heavy books and placed them on the dusty carpet, nearly crushing the remains of a disassembled Pokeball. '_Does he live here?' _I thought, examining the room further. There were remains of candy wrappers and empty cans of energy drinks in three separate wastebaskets, all of which were overflowing to the point of disgust.

"Ah, here we go!" he exclaimed, knocking over an old copy of _Pokemon Review 1993 _and holding up a small, silver camera. He turned towards me. "Flash or no flash?"

I stuttered. "S-sorry?"

"Do you want flash on your goddamned Identification Card or not, kid?" he snapped, already booting up a decrepit computer terminal. "Now, I would recommend flash myself. If they ever find your body or something, the first thing that they check for is an ID Card."

I visibly recoiled at his impatient outburst. "I, um, I guess I'll take flash, then."

He grunted something intelligible and told me to sit up straighter. There was no warning as the camera whined to life, spewing a burst of white light throughout the room. Elm rushed over to the computer terminal, attached the device via a USB cord, and typed out a few commands. Seconds later, I heard a printer start somewhere beneath another pile of books.

Elm looked at me again. "OK. Have you ever used a Pokeball before?"

I shook my head, earning another round of cursing grunts.

"You know what?" he asked aloud, more to himself than anyone. "They keep sending me these kids that don't know shit about Pokemon. These are supposed to be the next people running the Pokemon League? Good luck to that."

I said nothing. I wanted to make myself sink as far back into the chair as I could, to escape somewhere...anywhere but there.

"OK," he said to me, pulling a small, red and white sphere out of his coat pocket and holding it out. "Here. Don't press any buttons until I tell you to."

I nodded and took the Pokeball. It was the first time that I had ever held one. Upon closer inspection, the red tint painting the top of the summoning device proved to be semi-translucent, allowing me to see the holographic image of a small, mouse Pokemon.

"Tap that button in rapid succession, but only twice," commanded Elm.

I followed his orders, tapping the raised, silver button in the middle, two times. The Pokeball shrunk as though it were not a solid item, minimizing into a ball not much larger than a ping-pong ball. I nearly dropped the device in surprise.

"Do it again," he ordered.

This time, the ball regained its baseball size form.

"OK. Follow my next instructions closely. Pokeballs have heat sensitive paint that cover the metal skin. The Pokemon is released when blood rushes to your fingertips, _and _the button is pressed – hence the throwing motion that most trainers have used over the years. If you press the button on an empty Pokeball, it will return the Pokemon you called out. If you throw an empty Pokeball and press the button at the same time, then it'll go into capture mode. You got it?"

"S-sure."

Elm sighed. "Good. There's already a Pokemon in there. It should be tame...one of the local Pokemon Rangers brought it in the other day. Make sure you don't activate the ball until you're outside. The last thing I need is my lab turning into an electric fireball. Let's get your ID and your Pokedex. Blue, pink, or red?"

"I'll take red," I muttered, stowing the Pokeball in my pocket. _An electric fireball?_ _Is the Pokemon within really that dangerous?_

Elm didn't look open to questions, so I didn't ask. He knocked over another pile of books and accessed the printer, taking a plastic ID card from the tray. The professor reached behind a stack of lined paper to produce a red device.

"Listen again, OK?" he asked, holding up the small handheld. "This is a Pokedex. It's an encyclopedia that captures the image of a Pokemon and relays official data from the Pokemon League servers. It has a solar bar for sustained power, like a calculator. There's a national map in here, a low quality camera, and a built in radio for AM stations. There's other stuff too, like a contact list and petty things like a calculating function. If you hook it up to a computer, you can even download new software. The Pokedex won't work unless your ID card is slid into the bottom, like a memory card."

"OK," was all I said. I was feeling numb again.

"You need to get your tattoo as well."

"What?" I uttered.

"Sorry, kid, it's federal law for all trainers to have a tattoo. Don't worry, it's just for identification purposes. It's so they know who's a trainer. Put your hand on the desk next to that computer."

I paused. "No."

"Give me your fucking hand before I call the Rangers!" he snapped. "I said that I don't have time for this shit! I mean it."

I paused again. "OK."

I put my hand over the mouse-pad. Elm read the numbers below an image of my ID card on the screen before pulling out a stamping tool. I noted the fact that my picture looked similar to a horrible mugshot. I wasn't smiling, and the high light saturation nearly made me look gaunt. He turned a few dials on the side and then pressed it against the back of my right hand.

"This is going to hurt," he warned.

I opened my mouth to protest, but quickly clenched my jaw shut as he slammed the tool against my hand. It did hurt – like a million bee stings over and over again, in the same area. The code, #0554205 was inked in black across an area that was rapidly turning red. I was beginning more and more to see this process as an execution, rather than an induction.

"OK kid. No further questions?"

"W-well...um...no."

He was already escorting me to the door.

"Good. You seem sorta sharp, so you might actually get a few badges. Remember, if you get five badges, you're free to quit," he noted. "Just make sure you stick to the routes, and try not to talk to strangers."

"OK." We were on the doorstep again, and I was shielding my eyes. I could see the dirt path shimmering in the heat. It was going to be another scorcher.

Elm seemed to remember something. "Shit! Take this. It's your start-up fund that the state gives every trainer."

He handed me a thick, manila envelope. "It's two hundred dollars, in twenties."

"Thanks," I managed. My hand still throbbed in pain. I examined the numbers again. #0554205. I had become a statistic in a game much larger than I could even begin to understand.

Elm looked at me for a second. "Listen kid, I know what you're going through."

"Really?" I asked, a wry noise between a cough and a dry sob exiting my throat.

He showed me his left hand, which I hadn't noticed. #5032912. A trainer, like me.

"I got my five badges in Sinnoh and came here to start a new life. If you listened to anything I said today, then heed my next warnings. Like I said, don't talk to strangers. Don't trust anyone. Don't go off of the beaten path. If you don't want to battle, then avoid eye contact. If you don't want to make eye contact, then buy some goddamn sunglasses. Head west from here, and don't look back."

"OK," I said again. I had nothing left to say. I simply nodded and began walking down the steps and onto the dirt path.

"Hey, kid!" he said, a little louder this time.

"Yeah?" I asked.

Elm paused again. "When you see a dead body, don't panic. Just leave the area as soon as possible."

Not _if_ I see a dead body_, _but_ when_. It was a guarantee, it seemed.

"OK. Tell Mrs. Elm thank you," I said.

He grunted and watched me leave.

I turned west. It was going to be another burner of a day. Most of the dew from earlier in the morning was already evaporating. When I looked back, Elm was already retreating into the coolness of the laboratory again. The walk out of town was mainly uneventful. A few people wished me good morning. One lady saw my tattoo and wished me good luck. Another man saw it and averted his gaze.

Once I reached the outskirts of town, I realized that I would need it. The route itself was a dirt river, reaching and snaking between the trees and bushes far into the distance. Beyond that, I could see the plains and the hills, and a few, puffy clouds. The horizon awaited me.

Voluntary or not, I had become a Pokemon trainer.


End file.
